


It's Not The Years, It's The Mileage [no longer updating]

by MovesLikeBucky



Category: Good Omens (TV), Indiana Jones Series
Genre: But is it really an au if it still fits in canon?, Crossover, Explosions, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Indiana Jones Raiders of the Lost Ark AU, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, more tags to be added as chapters are added I'm sure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-01-31 14:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21448057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: “Dr. Fell,” said the first, “your specialty is religious artifacts, is it not?”“More or less,” Aziraphale said, fidgeting with his hands.“Then you’re just the person we need to intercept them,” the second agent said as he pulled out a few leaves of paper, “Our latest field reports put them somewhere called Tanis.”“Any idea what that is, or what they might be looking for there?” asked the first.Aziraphale froze in his seat.  It had been centuries, millennia, since he’d seen the Ark.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 80
Kudos: 104





	1. I'm Your Goddamn Partner!

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, the crossover no one asked for, but you're all gonna get it just the same!
> 
> This was inspired by [yamisnuffles](https://yamisnuffles.tumblr.com)' wonderful and amazing fan art ([1](https://yamisnuffles.tumblr.com/post/188704923071/good-omens-raiders-of-the-lost-ark-au-aka#notestart), [2](https://yamisnuffles.tumblr.com/post/188750360066/back-off-thissss-onesss-mine-theres-only#notestart), [3](https://yamisnuffles.tumblr.com/post/188884153766/aziraphale-and-crowley-clearly-both-very-ready-for#notestart)) and my fiancé who is the self proclaimed king of Indiana Jones trivia.
> 
> Some background on a couple of people here. [George Hill](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Francis_Hill) was the director and principal librarian of the British Museum from 1931 to 1936. The Lindsay referred to is [Sandie Lindsay](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sandie_Lindsay,_1st_Baron_Lindsay_of_Birker), vice-chancellor of Oxford University from 1935 to 1938. Finally, Harmondsworth Aerodrome was one of the early names for Heathrow Airport used in the 1930's!
> 
> History research is fun! I should do it for school sometime xD
> 
> As always, come scream with me on Tumblr - [moveslikebucky.tumblr.com](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sandie_Lindsay,_1st_Baron_Lindsay_of_Birker)
> 
> Don't forget to feed your authors with comments and kudos I welcome all of them and I love talking to people in the comments section!

** _Oxford University; 1936._ **

The clutter around Aziraphale’s office paled in comparison only to the clutter in his bookshop. Despite this, everything had its proper place. After almost six millennia, the angel had fully nailed down the concept of “organized chaos”.

He still wasn’t sure _why_ he’d decided to take up a position as a History Professor at Oxford. It had proven to be more of a bother than anything else at this point.

Heaven certainly hadn’t charged him with it; they rarely charged him with anything these days. The world had become quite volatile in this century and souls were streaming in one way or another without any of his help.

Truth be told, he’d been quite bored.

He’d considered it a stroke of luck when one of his regular customers got appointed vice-chancellor and offered him a job, he hadn’t really had a reason to refuse.

Passing knowledge on to the next generation was rewarding; his knowledge of antiquities and religious artifacts in particular was extremely appreciated at the school and among his “academic peers”1.

But with George Hill hanging around in his office again, he was beginning to think it had all been a very bad joke.

“Dr. Fell, surely you know how valuable your work has been to the museum,” the director said while idly shuffling through the papers and tomes that littered Aziraphale’s desk, “You’ve been completely indispensable to us these past years.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Aziraphale huffed, following behind the man and putting things back in their proper (if disorganized) place, “And I’m also sure I want nothing to do with whatever it is you want this time. These things belong to the cultures that created them! I’ll stake my entire reputation on that.”

“And yet they’re all cultures of the empire,” George said with a laugh, picking up an ancient-looking scroll and turning it over in his hands, “It’s not theft if it’s just relocation.”

At this George grinned at him; it came across as slimy. It made Aziraphale sick to his stomach, these outdated Victorian modes of thinking. Everything belonged to the person with the most money and the most guns. It was terribly tragic.

After the last instance in Peru (which culminated in being chased by a boulder, nearly crushed by a stone door, and nearly being skewered with arrows) he’d decided he was finished helping the museum in their fools’ errands. 

“Or call it borrowing, if it makes you feel better,” George added, sensing Aziraphale’s disdain, “besides, it’s not me who wants your help this time.”

“Oh, it had better not be that blowhard Carter, I’ve had enough of him to last a lifetime,” Aziraphale said as he took the scroll away from George, practically ripping it from his hands, “And please do stop touching everything, I have it all in perfect order!”

George just shrugged, “It’s SIS, Dr. Fell. I’m afraid you can’t wiggle your way out of this one, old boy.”

“SIS? British military intelligence?” Aziraphale scoffed, “My dear fellow, you must be joking. What on earth do they need with a history professor?”

“They didn’t tell me, only wanted me to put them in touch with you, hence why I’m in your office now.” George looked around with mild revulsion at the chaos of Aziraphale’s office, “Tell me, does old Lindsay really have no issues with the mess here?”

“The vice-chancellor allows me whatever I need to get my job done,” Aziraphale said proudly, “As to the state of my office, I’ll have you know it’s perfectly organized in a way I see fit.”

“Yes, quite obviously,” George said, eyes floating around the room judgementally.

“Well if it’s British intelligence I doubt they’ll let me be,” the angel sighs, resigning himself to his fate, “When am I to meet them?”

“They made us a lunch appointment for tomorrow afternoon, I understand it’s at the Ritz of all places.” He turned and made his way out the door, “One o’clock, don’t be late, Dr. Fell!”

Aziraphale steadied himself against the desk as the door closed. 

The Ritz of all places.

\---

** _The Ritz, London_ **

Despite the particular brand of company, Aziraphale was trying his best to enjoy himself. It would have been much easier if these SIS nitwits would just get to the point.

Two agents had met the angel and George at the door and they’d quickly been ushered inside to their table. That had been over an hour ago.

Aziraphale enjoyed savoring a good meal, but he did not enjoy being put upon. And there were far more places he could be that had far less sad memories attached to them. He was at the end of his rope.

The first of the agents, who was not tall, was in the middle of a particularly insensitive joke about the Irish and potatoes when Aziraphale let his fork clamor unceremoniously to his plate.

“Something bothering you, Dr. Fell?” asked the second agent, who was not short.

“I just rather wish you would get to the point,” Aziraphale said with a huff, “I really do have quite a lot of work to be doing, and I really don’t see the point in my being here if we’re just going to faff about the whole time.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” said the first agent, “alright then, you’re familiar with René Belloq, I’d assume?”

“The Frenchman, yes, I’ve had the displeasure of running into him a few times.”

René Belloq was an up-and-coming French archaeologist who was just a bit too obsessed with the occult. He fancied himself a ‘demon hunter’. The whole thing was laughable and was the main reason he wasn’t accepted in many of the more astute circles of academia. No one could take the man seriously.

Aziraphale thought the whole thing ridiculous. He knew what it took to catch a demon, and Belloq was not equipped for the struggle.

After all, the man’s taste in wine was _abysmal_ at best.

“According to our intel, he’s begun working with the Germans,” the first agent said through a mouthful of food. Aziraphale winced.

“What would the Germans want with that laughingstock?” George said with a laugh.

“They’ve been dipping more and more into the occult and the supernatural as of late,” said the second agent, “so, they hired an archaeologist with a similar mindset.”

“Similar mindset?” Aziraphale scoffed, “You mean someone in the Nazi party is taking Belloq _seriously_? I mean, I can’t say much for the intelligence of anyone calling themselves a Nazi but even so.”

“It appears they want his specialized knowledge to find an object of great power,” the first agent started while the second agent finished, “One that, if rumor serves, could be disastrous in the hands of the wrong people.”

“Why involve me then?” Aziraphale asked, “I’m just a history professor who’s been on a few misadventures.”

“Yes, I fail to see what exactly myself and Dr. Fell have to do with any of this,” George added, inserting himself back into the conversation.

The agents ignored him.

“Dr. Fell,” said the first, “your specialty is religious artifacts, is it not?”

“More or less,” Aziraphale said, fidgeting with his hands.

“Then you’re just the person we need to intercept them,” the second agent said as he pulled out a few leaves of paper, “Our latest field reports put them somewhere called Tanis.”

“Any idea what that is, or what they might be looking for there?” asked the first; something in his voice said he already knew the answer to that question.

Aziraphale froze in his seat. It had been centuries, _millennia_, since he’d seen the Ark. Since he’d walked with the slaves through all of that pain and suffering, tried to be a helping hand to Moses. He had been there when it was constructed, when the tablets were laid inside. He knew its power. He’d _seen_ it.

He hadn’t been there when it was lost. If he’d known it would be, he’d have destroyed it himself.

“There are legends,” the angel said softly, nervously loosening his tie, “myths, of course, nothing substantial. Nothing any _reputable_ historian would believe nowadays; but were quite popular in years gone by.”

George was staring at him with concern and confusion.

“Tanis,” Aziraphale continued, “has been believed for a long time to be a possible resting place for the Ark.”

The two agents look at each other and then back to Aziraphale.

“The Ark?” Asks the one who is not short, “You mean, like Noah’s Ark? A big boat?”

“Oh, heavens, no,” Aziraphale says quickly, “not that one, no. This would be the Ark of the Covenant. Big carved box, holds the broken pieces of the original stone tablets of the Ten Commandments.”

“It’s been rumored in so many places, Tanis always seemed the most _reasonable_,” George added, “but it’s a flight of fancy at best.”

“So was Tanis, until today,” Aziraphale pointed out, turning back to the agents, “You’re _sure_ they’ve found the city of Tanis, absolutely positive.”

“From the codes that we could break, yes.”

“It’s not much to go on,” the angel’s nervousness was leaving him. Adventuring might not have been his usual style, but over the past several years he’d grown to love the thrill of the chase. Even fancied himself a bit of a treasure hunter. “But it _is _something.”

“How would one even go about finding it?” George asked.

“According to the books I have on the subject,” Aziraphale furrowed his brow in thought, wishing he had a couple of the old volumes with him for reference2, “There’s a room somewhere in Tanis called the Well of Souls, that’s where the Ark is allegedly housed.”

“And how would one find the Well of Souls?” asked the not-tall agent.

“For that, you need a special staff,” he takes out a pencil that he definitely already had in his jacket pocket3 and starts sketching out the headpiece on a cocktail napkin “there’s another building in Tanis, allegedly, that has a map of the entire city built into the floor.”

His voice went quieter as he sketched; the other three men leaned in closer, enraptured by the story.

“According to the legends, if you have the Staff of Ra and the sun hits it just right,” Aziraphale turned the napkin around so the other three could see the sketch, his voice barely a whisper, “it will illuminate the building that houses the Well of Souls, and _that_, my dear fellows, is how you find the Ark of the Covenant.”

A tense silence fell as all four men looked at each other. Suddenly all four broke into laughter.

“Of course,” George said through his tears of laughter, “It’s all rumor and myth, it doesn’t _really _exist.”

“Either way,” said the first agent, calming his own laughter, “We must be sure. From the memos we’ve intercepted, Hitler believes this object to be a great source of power.”

“Dr Fell, you’ve been officially recruited by the SIS. It is your duty, to Queen and Country, to find whatever it is before Belloq and the Nazis do,” added the second agent.

Aziraphale was hesitant, but they were right. The Ark was something that could not fall into Nazi hands.

“Yes, of course, happy to help,” Aziraphale said through a forced smile. He couldn’t focus much in the rest of the meeting, his own thoughts making the sounds around him foggy and muddled.

He’d need the headpiece to that staff, and he knew just where to look.

\---

** _On a Plane Leaving Harmondsworth Aerodrome_ **

Aziraphale let his thoughts wander as he boarded the small airplane. Sure, he could miracle his way to Nepal, but he wasn’t sure how much Heaven was keeping track of these days. Not to mention the temperature differential might just discorporate him anyway.

No, it would have to be the human way.

It didn’t surprise him that they wanted him to find the damn thing, and of course he’d need that headpiece. Only one individual could possibly know where it was.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t spoken to them in nigh on seventy-five years.

The angel sighed to himself as he took his seat, removing his hat. Of all the rotten luck he could possibly have, and all the rotten memories he’d rather forget.

That day in St. James Park had been one of the worst the angel had experienced. If he had known just how quickly Crowley would shut him out of his life, he would’ve acted differently.

Or at least, he thought he might’ve. Something about hindsight and all that. But it’s hard to mitigate reactions when your best friend (whom Aziraphale might possibly, if he were pressed and prodded and definitely very, _very _drunk, admit to having some romantic attachments to) asks for the means to end his own life.

After ten years of no contact, Aziraphale hadn’t been able to stand it any longer. He’d used whatever means at his disposal to try to find Crowley and apologize.

His first bet was a dingy bar in Shanghai; some odd demon he’d threatened in an alleyway had told him there were rumors that Crowley had taken to singing there while tempting patrons to gamble. Aziraphale had thanked him kindly by smiting him. By the time he made it to Club Weatherwax the demon was gone.

Things had gone similarly in Portugal. Then Venice. Then India, where aside from a run in with some very strange locals with a penchant for human hearts and ancient stones, things had been completely uneventful4.

But it seemed every time he got close Crowley would slip past him. It was quite obvious the demon was not in the mood to talk, and especially not to him. He’d decided to give Crowley his space.

That had been almost thirty years ago. As of now, Crowley’s last known location was Nepal, and as far as Aziraphale could tell, he’d stayed there.

The angel opened his bag and took out a small volume he’d brought along for some light reading. He didn’t notice the shadowy figure watching him from the back of the plane.

\---

** _Nepal_ **

Nepal was a dreadful place. Cold and snowy at all times of the year, absolute bollocks to a serpent.

Crowley’s disdain for the cold was matched only by his disdain for being _found_. The last person he wanted to talk to was that stuffy, uptight, nonsense of an angel. 

_Let him keep chasing me, _he’d thought when he came here back in the early years of the century, _he ought to once in a while._

He hadn’t expected Aziraphale to actually take the hint and _stop_. Couldn’t that idiot tell when he was being goaded? With nothing better to do, Crowley had holed up here and stayed here. Hell wasn’t partial to cold weather, so they rarely came calling.

And really, the locals were just _so fucking easy._

He’d opened a bar, aptly named The Serpent, and performed his minor temptations on the patrons.

Nothing too flashy. Some local covets his neighbor’s wife, some missionary steals money from his parishioners, a Sherpa swindles a farmer out of more goats than his cow is worth.

And occasionally, nights like tonight, they gamble all of their life savings away in greed.

Crowley sat directly across from a ridiculous beast of a man; one he knew to be on the run and wanted by the authorities in several different countries. Both of them were nine shots into some of the demon’s best (and strongest) scotch. Crowley knew his advantages. He was small, scrawny, looked like a lightweight. His long hair gave him a more feminine appearance, which was underestimated around these parts. His dark glasses kept them from seeing his eyes; however bloodshot they might be. Sure, the room was currently spinning at a less than ideal pace, but he could still hold on if he needed to.

The guy across from him, however, was as pale as a ghost, only a matter of time now.

The revelers around them whooped and hollered, waving their money around, hoping to score big time as Crowley reached a shaky hand for his tenth shot. The crowd silenced when he picked it up and brought it ever so slowly to his lips.

The demon gulped down the liquid fire fast as he could, added in a bit of a sway for dramatics, turned the shot glass over and slammed it to the table. The lamplight flickered in the demon’s dark glasses as a twisted smile spread across his face.

The crowd cheered and more money exchanged hands, no telling how the bets were lining up at this point. The important thing was that the idiot across from him had bet everything on _himself_. 

He watched as the man poured himself another shot, watched him throw it back. The crowd waited with bated breath. The man started to laugh, and Crowley started to worry. Three more shots would be his limit, he was painfully close to it already.

Some of the people surrounding the lummox clapped him on the shoulders, ruffled his hair. The rest jumped around joyously, good fortune finding them at last.

Until the man fell to the ground with a thud.

An uproar through the revelers, arguing back and forth about who owed who how much. Crowley took a moment to sober himself up.

“Alright that’s enough you lot,” he stood, taking his own winnings as the bar patrons grumbled and started filtering towards the door, “everybody out! Show’s over, you lose some and you lose some, go on then! Give it another go next time, if you’re so bloody worried about it!”

Crowley nods to his bartender as the last of the locals make their way into the cold, giving them the go ahead to leave as well. He starts to gather up the shot glasses when he hears the door open.

“We’re closed,” he says without looking up, “come back and lose your money tomorrow night!”

“Isn’t it a _bit_ unfair,” starts the familiar voice, “having drinking contests with humans when you’re of celestial stock?”

“_Aziraphale,_” Crowley hissed out, not bothering to hide the hurt that came from saying that blasted name. He couldn’t turn and look, nor could he pin his emotions down. He was angry. He was relieved. He was a rather unsettling mixture of the two. 

“You’ve got a lot of nerve–“ he started, but cut himself off almost immediately. Aziraphale was leaning against the door frame, decked out like some kind of adventurer out of those silly books the villagers have been reading lately. Spiffy hat, leather coat, the boots; the whole nine. No brogues and waistcoat for this place. Crowley’s yellow eyes blew wide behind his dark lenses.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said slowly, delicately. The way one might talk to a spooked animal. “It’s been a long time, my dear.”

“Don’t you start!” the demon shouted, suddenly incensed, “You come in here with your ‘oh pish-posh’, ‘oh my dear’, ‘everything is tickety-boo’, like I’d have _forgotten_. Like I’m _stupid._” He picked up his tray of shot glasses and took them behind the bar, stomping the whole way. He threw them down with a flourish, breaking over half of them.

“Crowley, you must know I’ve been looking for you,” Aziraphale said, snapping his fingers and fixing the broken glasses.

“Yeah, what is it this time? A blessing in Edinburgh, jaunt down to help the missionaries over in Mexico? You really think I’d even _consider_ helping you with anything right now.”

The demon whipped his glasses off and stared at the angel through acid-yellow eyes; eyes full of hurt and anger.

“I trusted you, Aziraphale. I thought what we had- I thought we were,” the demon gestured wildly from behind the bar as his face fell, “I don’t even know what I think anymore. At the very least I thought we were friends.”

“Crowley, I never meant anything untoward,” Aziraphale said, wringing his hands together, “I was simply frightened is all.”

“Frightened? Yeah, sure, sounds about right,” Crowley said as he took a bottle of whiskey down off a shelf, letting the biting edge of sarcasm get his point across for him

“I’ll admit I never should have acted as though you mean nothing to me,” Aziraphale said desperately, walking over to the bar and leaning on the bar top.

“Bit late now, innit?” Crowley said taking a long swig out of the bottle, “Cat’s already out of the bag!”

“I searched for you! For _years_,” Aziraphale exclaimed; Crowley couldn’t help but notice the pink rising in the angel’s face, “for _decades_, you stupid serpent!” 

“Stopped though, didn’t you, Angel?” _Stopped and left me here in this satanforsaken place_ he thought but didn’t say. He was full of three decades worth of bitterness, all simmering under the surface, “What happened, finally decided you didn’t need to get in the last word after all?”

“I wanted to apologize but you’d never let me get close enough!” Aziraphale was doing that thing he always did when he got worked up. Stomping about, voice pitched higher than necessary. Crowley shouldn’t find it endearing, but he did all the same.

“Oh sure, pin this on me then why don’t you.” The demon knew as soon as they left his mouth that those words were the wrong thing to say. They’d be getting into dangerous territory soon; territory where they might actually _talk_ about things, and not just dance around them.

“You kept running, you had to have known I was looking for you but you kept running,” Aziraphale shouted, “I’ve been trying to give you space, I thought that’s what you wanted. What else was I supposed to think?”

Crowley looked up from his whiskey bottle and really _looked_ at his old friend for the first time since he’d arrived. Disheveled in a way that Crowley would’ve never expected, clearly exhausted, and now with tears brimming in those bright blue eyes.

Always the eyes, you’d think he’d learn eventually. Don’t look into his eyes, maybe you’ll survive. But he’d been the angel’s for too long now to be anything else.

“But you’re here now,” Crowley said, lowering his voice, “so what changed?”

“I assume you’ve heard of the bit of a dust up getting stirred up in Germany again?”

“Psh, hard not to,” he took a couple of the shot glasses out and poured one for each of them, “even way out here.”

“They’re trying to find the Ark,” Aziraphale sighed loudly and threw his shot back, wincing at the burn, “the Ark of the Covenant.”

“They’re _what._” Crowley stilled his own glass at his lips.

“Hitler’s become a bit obsessed with occult and ethereal things…thinks his team can find it and it will bring him untold power,” Aziraphale explained as he rubbed his temples. Their corporations as a rule didn’t get headaches, but sometimes they were a bit too human and forgot about this.

“Untold power, that’s a bloody understatement, innit?” Crowley asked, finally polishing off his own glass of whiskey, “We were _there_ Aziraphale. You’re the one who _sealed the bloody thing_.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” the angel said, exasperated, “But now I have to find it first, and thanks to the wards we put on it-“

“_You _put on it!”

“Yes, whatever, the wards that are on it, I can’t sense it. I have to search the old-fashioned way.”

“Been doing this a while, huh Angel?” Crowley was thinking back on some of the stories he’d heard, after the angel had stopped chasing him; he had his own channels to keep tabs on the featherbrain, and they still updated him regularly. “I’ve heard the rumors. The Voynich manuscript a few years back, that business at Stonehenge before that? Peru a few months ago. you’ve been busy, haven’t you? Why do you need my help?”

“Do you remember, when we were in Egypt,” Aziraphale watched the demon pour him another one and drank it gratefully, “The pharaohs trusted you for centuries, I know you kept mementos. You always keep mementos.”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” Crowley said, crossing his arms and leaning against the back counter, “The pharaohs were insufferable old _gits_ at the best of times, maybe I don’t want to remember them.”

“Look, all I need is a staff headpiece, it’s about this big,” Aziraphale made a small circle out of his hands, “red crystal a bit off center, supposed to be the sun. That’s all I need.”

“That’s all, is it?” Crowley asked, arching an eyebrow. An eyebrow that effectively said _what’s in this for me?_

“Yes, and then…” Aziraphale sighed heavily, shoulders sinking, “And then I’ll leave you alone, for however long you want me to.”

“Won’t go chasing me halfway ‘round the world, then?” Crowley searched the angel’s face for…well, for what he wasn’t really sure. 

“Not if you don’t want me to,” the angel said quietly, “you have my word.”

“I’ve had your word before, _Angel_,” Crowley hissed, pouring as much malice into the familiar moniker as he could, “and you said we were in things together. The Arrangement. What happened to that?”

“I meant it, way back then. I never meant to lose you,” the angel’s eyes stayed trained on the grimy bar floor.

“The same bastard,” Crowley shook his head, unable to hide the twinge of fondness in his voice, “Come back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Aziraphale looked up, confused, as Crowley made his way back around the bar, “why?”

“Because I said so,” the demon lifted him by the shoulder and started towards the door, “It’s about time I called some of the shots where you’re concerned.”

“Fine,” Aziraphale said, wrenching his shoulder out of the demon’s grip and brushing off his brown leather jacket, “I trust you.”

“You’re an idiot,” Crowley said with a half-cocked smile.

“So I’ve been told,” Aziraphale said sadly as he stepped out into the snow, “so I’ve been told.”

Crowley watched the angel’s retreating back for a few moments, leaning against the door jam, before going back to the bar. He took an old box out from underneath it.

The box was almost as old as the demon himself, and filled with many of the trinkets he’d kept over the years. A couple of oyster shells from Rome, a copy of the program for Hamlet, a rusty nail carefully wrapped in several layers of linen. Underneath all of these he found what he was looking for. A bronze disk with a red crystal, just slightly off center, on a long silver chain.

“Bingo,” he said, much to himself, “All this time and _this_ is what brings him back around to me, then.”

He turned the medallion over in his hands, finally hanging it on a hook behind the bar. “Of all the shitty hellholes in all the frosted mountain’s he’d just _have _to walk into mine, wouldn’t he,” Crowley said, darting his yellow eyes up to the ceiling, “you listening up there? Must be a great joke to you then, eh?”

Crowley stuffed the box back under the bar and replaced his sunglasses. He poured himself another shot of whiskey; debating the merits of sobering up but ultimately deciding against it.

From the shadows of the alley outside, a figure in a black hat watched intently.

-

Aziraphale clutched his jacket tighter around himself as the wind picked up, blowing the snow flurries to and fro. He had to admit, all things considered, that had gone better than expected. 

But if that was the case, why did he still feel so broken?

Really, what had he _actually_ expected? Some nonsensical high romance like in his books? Did he think he’d go in and sweep Crowley off his feet and it’d all be a wash? That they could ride off into the sunset? That kind of thing never actually happened. Especially not to them.

The angel continued to trudge through the banked snowfall, his brain turning the night’s events over and over. Maybe things would be better tomorrow. He’d go back first thing in the morning to that silly bar and everything would be fine.

Things were always fine with Crowley eventually.

His mindless trudging had led him, not to the inn he was staying at, but right back to the bar.

“Oh, now this is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, “pull yourself together.”

Aziraphale moved to leave; but paused when he heard voices behind one of the boarded windows. A quick upward glance, a particular nervous tick of his anytime Crowley was concerned, and he moved closer to eavesdrop.

“What do you want?” he heard Crowley’s voice say, trying to get a better look through the thin gap in the wood at who he was talking to.

Four men; two of them locals and two clearly not, had made their way into the establishment. One, who was dressed in a very smart black suit, seemed to be doing all of the talking.

“The same thing your friend Dr. Fell wanted,” the man in black said with a thick German accent, advancing towards Crowley in a manner that was supposed to come across as menacing, “Surely he told you there would be other interested parties?”

He watched Crowley take out a cigarette and light it, “Must’ve slipped his mind.”

“The man is, heh, nefarious,” the man in black said, stepping even closer, as Crowley stifled a snort, “I hope, for your sake, he has not yet acquired it.”

The demon raised an eyebrow over his dark glasses, “Why, what are you willing to offer for it?”

“Oh, quite everything I assure you, my friend,” the man said in a nasally voice, “Everything important, anyway.”

Crowley took a long drag and blew the smoke out into the man’s face.

“Right then,” the demon said with a smirk before shrugging with indifference and turning to the bar, “well I don’t have it. But…I can give you the next best thing.”

The demon looked back at the man in black as he continued, “I know where it is, and I’m sure we could come to some kind of deal?”

As soon as Crowley rounded the corner of the bar, he was boxed in by one of the man in black’s thugs. He turned to the thug, looking almost offended. Aziraphale took the opportunity to quietly sneak around to the doorway.

“What seems to be the trouble, fellas? Can I get any of you a drink?” he said, falling back on his carefully crafted cool façade.

The man in black stoked the fire, “Your fire is dying, dear boy. Why don’t you tell me where the piece is right now, and then we’ll be on our way.”

“Hey now, listen, I don’t know what kind of people you’re used to dealing with, but I can guarantee you that they aren’t anything like me,” he pointed an angry finger in the direction of the man, “Nobody, and I do mean nobody, tells me what to do in my place.”

The large man behind the bar pounced, grabbing Crowley’s arms and locking them behind his back, dragging him out from behind the bar. The man in black took the now searing hot poker out of the fire and advanced on Crowley.

“Fellas, really, weren’t we just having a civil conversation? I can still tell you what you want to know, no need for all this.”

“Are you always this insufferable, dear boy?” the man in black asked, advancing with the red hot poker, “The time for talk is past”

Aziraphale watches him get right in Crowley’s face and readies himself.

“I already know you’ll tell me everything I need to know.”

A loud crack thunders through the bar as the German yelps; the poker flying across the room and tangling in curtains, setting them alight instantly.

“Let him go!” Aziraphale shouted.

Gunfire erupted through the bar as everyone jumped for cover, knocking over tables and spilling booze onto the ground. Aziraphale, still pinned in the door frame, drew his gun.

“Oh, I hate these infernal contraptions!” The angel shouted as he shot at the first of the thugs, his aim less than perfect5.

The man fired back with his rifle, bullets pinging off the stone of the doorway.

Aziraphale saw as the fire jumped from the curtains, lighting a pile of firewood against the wall. With a snap of his fingers, the logs started rolling – right into the pool of alcohol surrounding the thug’s upended table.

The man screamed as the arm of his jacket caught fire, and Aziraphale tried to steady his aim.

He was distracted by a loud thud from the bar and saw Crowley holding a broken table leg, the German thug laid out at his feet. Crowley was shouting but he couldn’t tell what the demon was saying. 

Before Aziraphale could figure it out, the third henchman's two strong hands grabbed him and threw him towards the bar, pinning him down as he struggled.

“Need a hand?” Crowley asked, ducking back behind the bar.

“Whiskey?” Aziraphale wheezed.

Crowley shrugged and passed him a bottle, which he smashed over the thug’s head, knocking him out cold.

He barely registered the man in black running out the door before he was hit with a sharp right hook to the gut. Apparently the first wanker had managed to put the fire out.

“Oh _seriously,_” Aziraphale could feel blood running down his face. He took up a defensive stance.

The man screeched at him, a loud guttural thing.

“Fine then,” the angel said, steeling himself, “we’ll see what you’ve got.”

Before either could throw a punch, a shot rang out. The thug sunk to his knees, blood oozing out of his mouth. Crowley was behind him, finger still on the trigger, gun still pointed out in front of him. Silence fell over the bar, the only sound remaining the crackling of the fire, leaping all around them from one surface to the next.

They just stared at each other for a moment, both of them grimy and covered in sweat and blood (they weren’t sure _whose_ blood), breathing heavily.

The moment was thick and hazy, neither of them wanting to break eye contact but neither of them truly knowing what to say. Not even knowing where to start.

“Alright there, Angel?” Crowley asked, lowering the gun and letting it clatter to the floor. Aziraphale tried not to notice the worry in the demon’s face as his eyes darted to the blood on the angel’s forehead. Crowley’s sunglasses had long since disappeared and Aziraphale was trying very hard not to read into the emotion in the demon’s yellow eyes.

“Alright, seen worse,” Aziraphale said, wiping the blood from his forehead, healing it with a quick miracle, “You?”

Crowley opened his mouth to reply but before he could one of the rafters came crashing down.

“We should get out of here,” Crowley grabbed the medallion from its hook before vaulting over the bar and heading for the door, “whole damn place is gonna come down!”

They stumbled out of the bar just in time to see the roof cave in; the howling wind outside a stark contrast to the previous silence.

“Well, Angel, let it never be said you don’t know how to show a demon a good time,” Crowley said, watching his bar burn to the ground.

“Really?” Aziraphale said, both hands on his knees attempting to catch his breath, “Is that what you’d call that? You’re really something.”

“You think so?” Crowley said with a smirk, “Better hope you’re up for it, then.”

“Up for _what_?”

“Oh, this is all way too good to pass up, you’re in for much more than you bargained for,” Crowley held up the medallion, by the chain, grinning like a madman, “This what you needed?”

“Yes! You had it the whole time, I knew it!” Aziraphale shouted, reaching for it.

“Ah ah ah,” Crowley said, pulling it out of the angel’s reach and wagging his finger, “No, I think I need to come along. As of right now, Angel, I’m your goddamn partner.”

\-----

1 \- “Academic peers” was a very loose term for the other professors and academics he associated with at Oxford.Frankly he found them all uptight and insufferable.And their opinions on women were dismal at best.

2 \- Of course one of the benefits of the celestial mind was the almost photographic memory.He might as well have had the books with him the whole time.

3 \- After all, procuring a pencil would be considered a “frivolous miracle” and he certainly wasn’t performing any of those these days.

4 \- This wouldn’t be the first nor the last time Aziraphale dealt with strange cults mutilating bodies and sacrificing people to old gods, but those were stories for another time.

5 \- Heaven, as a rule, considered guns good as long as they could lend weight to a moral argument.Aziraphale had never cared for the things; too loud for his taste.


	2. Dust-up at the Marketplace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley, hoping that their troubles have been left behind in Nepal, fly to Cairo to meet Aziraphale's old friend Sallah. Unfortunately for them, other interested parties are still around and still searching for them.

** _Cairo, Egypt. 1936_ **

The flight from Nepal had been awkward to say the least. Both the angel and the demon had more words to say than they could process in such a short span of time. Not that either of them wanted to make that effort.

As they always did, things eventually slid into a companionable silence, and then into conversation. 

“How is it that _I_ tempted humans into knowledge, and _you_ ended up a professor?” Crowley said, leaning back in his seat, “What did your lot have to say about that?”

“Nothing at all, actually. Seems they’re still a bit behind on paperwork from the Great War, they’ve left me alone for several decades now.”

“Nice then, innit?” Crowley was doing his best to use the airplane seat in the most incorrect way possible, “Do what you want, they just bugger off. Haven’t heard from my lot in a while either, figured it was the area. They’re probably just as swamped as yours though.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Aziraphale said as the stewardess passed by handing out peanuts, “Tell me more about Nepal, how on earth did you end up somewhere so dreadfully cold?”

“Dunno, really,” Crowley said, grinning at him, “beacon of bad ideas and dangerous people, seemed a good idea at the time I guess.”

_Maybe this won’t be so bad after all_, Aziraphale thought, _maybe we can at least get back to where we were._

As they stepped out of the airport a few hours later, he stole a glance at Crowley, stretching up to meet the Egyptian sun. Poor demon probably hadn’t seen good sunlight in years. It wouldn’t surprise Aziraphale to see some of Crowley’s more snake-like tendencies come out while they were here6. 

He immediately averted his gaze as Crowley’s shirt rode up just a bit too high. Sure enough, there were scales on his spine.

Aziraphale swallowed hard and bid his heart to quit pounding as Crowley turned back and grinned at him.

The angel rolled his eyes and scanned the area, and soon noticed a short man in a smart cream suit hurrying towards them.

“My old friend! Welcome! Welcome to Cairo; city of the living! Paradise on Earth,” Sallah pulled Aziraphale into a friendly hug once he made it to them.

Aziraphale was always happy to see a friendly face, especially one of his oldest human friends. He and Sallah had worked together in the twenties, and there was no one he could count on more for this.

“It’s good to see you again, my friend,” Aziraphale said with a wide smile, “And how are Fayah and the kids? I believe our last correspondence you said there were eight of them now?”

“Nine as it were! It’s been a while since I’ve written you,” Sallah looked over to Crowley, a bit perplexed, “And who is your friend here?”

Crowley extended a hand, “Anthony J Crowley, I’m an associate of Dr. Fell’s.”

“_Anthony?_” Aziraphale mouthed at him, Crowley just shrugged.

Sallah pulled Crowley into a friendly embrace as well, clapping him on the back.

“Any friend of Ezra’s is a friend of mine, indeed,” he said with a laugh, “Come, you are both welcome in our home! We will discuss Tanis there.”

Sallah hurried ahead of them to his truck and Aziraphale turned to Crowley.

“Really?”

“What,” the demon said, looking a tad bit crestfallen, “you don’t like it?”

Aziraphale thought for a moment, then shook his head, “No, I didn’t say that…I’ll get used to it.” Crowley smiled at him as they clambered into the truck.

The trip to Sallah’s home was uneventful, but Aziraphale still held onto his worries. The strange German man from the bar had escaped, and though he’d love to think that was the last of it, the angel was sure their troubles weren’t over.

But really, were they ever? He’d have to stay on his guard until this was finished.

Aziraphale wasn’t the least bit surprised when Crowley was swarmed by Sallah’s children when they arrived. The demon had always been surprisingly good with kids and they had always gravitated to him. 

As soon as they got to the roof, the children grabbed Crowley’s arms and dragged him towards a table situated under a bright pergola. Fayah followed close behind shaking her head. A small intruder, a monkey, had made his way into the house and was currently raiding a bowl of fruit.

“Children, children! Why do you forget yourselves?” Fayah said, waving the children away from the table, “and who brought this animal here?”

The monkey managed to turn the bowl over, spilling the fruit onto the table and the floor.

“Oh, isn’t he a _cute_ little fella,” Crowley said sarcastically. The monkey stared at him for a beat before jumping to his shoulder and grabbing onto his hair, “Oy! Bugger off!”

The children laughed as Crowley tried in vain to get the literal monkey off his back and Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, he likes you,” Fayah said, softening immediately, “then he shall be welcome in our house!”

“Oh, no, no, no, really, that’s not necessary, you really don’t have to- ARGH!” Crowley yelped as the monkey pulled on his hair again, “Right little bastard, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale leaned against one of the posts of the pergola. He watched the events unfold, smiling brightly and not caring who saw. He really had missed Crowley terribly. Things had been so dull without the demon around to cause trouble. Or whisk him off to restaurants or the theatre. Aziraphale felt they’d wasted so much time and he desperately hoped they’d get back on track.

The monkey chittered and the children laughed, dragging Crowley off again. As they did, the demon looked over his shoulder, beaming.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but think of things like successful plays that weren’t one of the funny ones; or crepes in the middle of a revolution. If he were pressed about it, he might say things felt like they were falling into place right where they should be.

The angel laughed and took a seat at the table across from Sallah.

“I knew they’d hire you, of course,” Aziraphale said as Sallah poured them both a drink, “You’ve always been the best digger in Egypt.”

“My services are entirely inconsequential to them. They’ve hired or shanghaied every digger in Cairo at this point,” Sallah took a long drink and shook his head, “They hire only strong backs and they pay pennies for them. It’s as if the pharaohs had returned…”

Sallah trailed off staring into the distance and Aziraphale was struck. He remembered the days of the pharaohs, the back-breaking work Moses’ people were charged with. The sooner they found the Ark, the sooner these Nazis would have nothing to dig for. “And have they found the map room yet?”

“Yes, three days ago,” he nodded, “broke through myself.”

“Excellent,” Aziraphale said, “That’s half the problem solved at least.” The less subterfuge, the better. Aziraphale knew that Crowley had a penchant for it, but he just didn’t think he’d be able to stomach it this time around.

“I can say this of them,” Sallah said with a chuckle, “they have not one brain among them, save for one Frenchman.”

“Yes, René Belloq, I was told he’d be involved,” Aziraphale furrowed his brow, “dreadful fellow with his silly obsessions.”

“The Germans certainly don’t seem to mind; one might even think they find it endearing.”

“I highly doubt Nazi’s are capable of finding anything _endearing_, my old friend.”

“Maybe not, but they do have a great advantage over us,” Sallah leaned in closer and lowered his voice, “they’re very near to discovering the Well of Souls.”

“They won’t get far without this,” the angel took the medallion out of his pocket and watched it glint in the sunlight before handing it to his friend, “who could tell us about these markings? I’m afraid my grasp on the ancient languages is a bit rusty.”

Sallah considered it for a moment, turning it over and over in his hands. “Perhaps I know a man who can help us, I’ll speak to him at once.” He paused as a distant look crossed his face, “But, Ezra, there is something that troubles me.”

“What is it?”

“The Ark, if it is there, at Tanis…then it is something man was not meant to disturb. Death has always surrounded it.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but think to the past. The pure celestial energy that had released when Moses broke the tablets in anger; the idolaters hadn’t stood a chance. That power was not meant for mortal eyes or mortal uses. It had very nearly destroyed Crowley; and it would have if Aziraphale hadn’t been there. Afterwards they had helped Moses seal the broken pieces into the Ark.

“I know Sallah, believe me I know.”

\---

** _Cairo Marketplace, later that day_ **

Crowley had needled Aziraphale into taking a spin with him around the marketplace. It had been centuries since the demon was in Egypt, and he wanted to see how much had changed. The monkey was still clinging to him, gripping onto his hair. It was odd; animals didn’t usually take to him. Something to do with the whole ‘snake’ thing. Crowley had decided he didn’t mind the little fellow that much.

And if the monkey raised the angel’s hackles, well, that was just a bonus.

“Did you _really_ need to bring that _thing_ with you, Crowley?” Aziraphale said with more than a little exasperation. The monkey had stolen a handful of pistachios from a market stall and was periodically pelting the angel with the shells.

“I’m surprised at you, Angel,” Crowley said, feigning a shocked gasp and stroking the monkey’s fur, “aren’t angels supposed to love all of God’s creatures?”

“Broadly,” Aziraphale said, wincing as another shell hit right between his eyes, “I don’t think it should extend to when they’re this obnoxious.”

“Ah, come on, Angel!” Crowley said, gathering up the monkey from his shoulder and practically cooing at it, “The fellow’s like a perfect mix of us; he even looks like you!”

Aziraphale huffed, “Well obviously he has _your_ brains then.” For his trouble he was rewarded with another shell lobbed in his direction while the monkey shrieked.

Crowley scoffed as they stopped at yet another merchant stall; Aziraphale was hardly able to stop himself from trying any and all food the little marketplace had to offer him. “Course he does; smart little thing, this one!”

Aziraphale shot him a sidelong glance just as the monkey jumped down and darted down an alleyway.

“Hey, where’d he go?” Crowley said, looking around.

“Come on, he’ll turn back up,” Aziraphale held out a small paper bag to him, “have a date.”

Crowley took one of the small fruits and sniffed it, making a face. “What’s this?”

“It’s a date,” the angel said, smiling, “You eat them! They’re really quite delightful.”

“Well, obviously if it’s something you picked up,” Crowley said, stealing the hat off of Aziraphale’s head just to get a rise out of him, “Why are you wearing this nonsense anyway? Makes you look like one of those silly fellows out west in the States.”

“Would you give that back, I happen to like it,” the angel said to no avail as Crowley put it on his own head, “And besides it’s not a cowboy hat, I happen to think it’s rather fetching.”

“As if you would know fetching if it were staring you in the face, you still wear tartan.” Aziraphale glared at him as he took his hat back, but there was no malice behind it. Things were starting to fall back to normalcy.

Their conversation meandered along with them as they made their way through the market. They didn’t notice the shadowy figure with an eyepatch watching them from the back-alleys with a very familiar monkey perched on his shoulder7.

“I’m just saying, Angel,” Crowley said as they approached a pottery stall, “I’d have paid actual real money to see you teaching a class. Or fighting cannibals in India. Can’t believe I missed all of that.”

“You wouldn’t have had to if you’d just stopped being such a stubborn serpent,” Aziraphale said exasperatedly as he looked over the vases and urns, admiring the colors. Deep blues and bright reds, similar to the wares of centuries past.

“Oh, come on,” the demon said with a grin, “You wouldn’t have me any other way, would you?” Crowley paused. He was afraid he might be getting a bit too close to a revelation he didn’t want to hear.

He loved Aziraphale. Had for a blasted long time, at that8. Being apart from him, actively running away from him, had stung. But he had seen something in the angel’s eyes that day in St. James; something pleading. Something reflected in his friend that Crowley had been trying to squash down deep inside of himself for centuries. 

He didn’t dare hope for that.

Aziraphale couldn’t love him that way. He was an angel; he loved all things inherently. Part of the job description. Crowley assumed that might extend to him, but he was sure Aziraphale could never feel this all-encompassing, persistent, absolutely torturous _yearning_. This need to protect and covet and keep. It was maddening and it was useless. Crowley had honestly thought maybe Nepal would freeze it out of him, but as soon as Aziraphale had appeared in that doorway it rushed back with reckless abandon. Emotions barging in like they owned the damn place, and very quickly reminding him that someone specific had owned the space in his heart for a very long time.

Crowley was startled from his thoughts by a hand on his arm and immediately realized he’d zoned out.

“Crowley, did you hear me?” Aziraphale asked, concern painting his face.

“Sorry, lost myself a bit there, what was it?”

“I said,” Aziraphale huffed, “that I did quite miss you terribly these past decades.”

Crowley could only stare at him. Words tried to bubble up (_I missed you, too. You have no idea. I bloody love you, stupid featherbrain._) but nothing could come out.

“What I mean is,” the angel continued, averting his gaze upwards while wringing his hands together, nervous ticks he’d had since Eden, “it has been dreadfully boring without you around, and more than a bit lonely.”

Aziraphale avoided looking Crowley in the face. The demon felt a bit at a crossroads; a turning point where there were two options and one would be infinitely more important than the other. Slowly, he took off his sunglasses, baring himself in the way he was least comfortable.

“Hey, Angel, look at me,” he said, laying a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and trying desperately not to notice the fear and uncertainty in those eyes, “I’m sorry, ok? I shouldn’t have run quite so hard and I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.”

“Oh, oh thank you,” Aziraphale perked up immediately, smiling brightly at Crowley. Aziraphale had a lot of smiles at his disposal, Crowley had already mentally catalogued all of them, but this was one he so rarely saw. The one of pure joy that made the angel’s eyes sparkle. “I was worried, that when this is all over, you might-“ the angel trailed off and his eyes went wide.

“Oh, bugger,” Aziraphale cursed and Crowley barely had time to process that fact before he found himself pushed down to the ground.

-

Aziraphale didn’t have time to think, just to act. He pushed Crowley to the ground right before the first thug swung his sword. He missed and instead found his face connected with the angel’s right hook9. Crowley, realizing what was happening, stuck out his leg and tripped the second one as Aziraphale landed another hit on the third.

“You didn’t have to push me into the dirt, Angel!” Crowley shouted at him. When the demon stood again, Aziraphale grabbed him by the arm and started running.

They put some distance between themselves and the thugs, but they were still catching up. They found themselves at a dead end of an alley, the only choices to go right or left.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Crowley said, out of breath, “That’s a mean right hook for an angel.”

“It’s no good,” Aziraphale said as he looked around for an escape route, “we’ll have to split up!”

“When has that ever been a good idea?”

“Well it’s the only idea I’ve got,” he said, “so if you have any better ones now would be the time!”

Crowley opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“That’s what I thought,” Aziraphale said, “Now run!”

He ran left while Crowley ran right, the local cutthroats splitting behind them.

Aziraphale had never before wished quite so hard that humans would just leave; he couldn’t use miracles with this many humans around, it would just cause more of a ruckus. He ducked in and out of alleyways, trying to take the most circuitous path he could.

The angel emerged into a large square. It was teeming with people. As he paused to get his bearings, the crowd parted for a lone assassin with a scimitar.

“Oh, really now, this is getting quite tedious,” Aziraphale said through shaky breaths, watching the man swing and twirl his sword around. Shouting like a moron the whole time. 

It was at this moment Aziraphale had decided he’d had enough of this. “I do apologize, but I really do not have time for this,” he said, snapping his fingers in a downward motion.

The assassin’s sword clattered to the ground as he disappeared for places unknown10.

Aziraphale heard a very familiar voice shouting his name. He turned towards it and saw two thugs carrying a large rattan basket.

“ANGEL! AZIRAPHALE!”

_Why on Earth_, Aziraphale thought to himself as he gave chase, _is Crowley trapped in a basket?_

-

Crowley had taken the pathway to the right and ended in another square of the market. The demon doubled back, intending to go and help Aziraphale, but was stopped by a lone assassin. He grabbed a frying pan from a nearby stall.

“Hey, get back, I know how to use this thing!” Crowley yelled with all of the confidence he could muster; despite the fact that he most certainly did not know how to use a frying pan.

The assassin just laughed as he pulled a large knife from his robes.

“Well, alright then,” Crowley said before running the other direction. The assassin ran after him and the demon ducked into an open doorway. The thug followed him and was met with cast iron to the face, knocking him out cold.

Crowley pulled the body into the building before starting out again. As he ducked between alleys, he saw a pile of large rattan baskets. He could hear the thundering of the cutthroats running after him, so he jumped inside one to hide. He stayed still, even stopped breathing, as he listened to them run past him. Breathing a sigh of relief, he went to push the lid back off.

Only something had jumped on top and started screeching. The same monkey from earlier.

“Oy, come off it!” Crowley shouted, shaking the lid trying to knock the monkey off, “You’ll get me spotted stupid little gremlin.”

He didn’t see the thugs double back or the man in the gray suit come out of one of the nearby doorways accompanied by a man with an eyepatch. The next thing Crowley knew, he was frozen in place.

“What in the heaven,” he said as he struggled against whatever was holding him steady. There were precious few things in this world that could _actually _hold a demon hostage. 

The lid was lifted off of him and he stood against his will, face to face with both of the men. The man in the eyepatch looked terrified, while the man in the suit looked rather bemused.

“I have to hand it to you, my friend,” said the man in the suit to the man with the eyepatch, “I didn’t believe you at first, but there is no mistaking. Snake eyes, very interesting.”

Crowley cursed internally. He’d had his sunglasses off when all of this started, and now hadn’t the foggiest idea where they might’ve ended up. The man in gray approached him as his supposed friend the monkey climbed up onto Eyepatch’s shoulder.

“Hello, my friend,” the man said to him, “Perhaps you’ve heard of me, I’m René Belloq.” Crowley spit on his shoes. “Hmm, a bit touchy, aren’t you?”

“A bit, yeah,” Crowley said, “Considering the smug grin on your face I’m assuming you’re the reason I can’t move. What is it? Devil’s trap, incantation bowls? Azira – uh – Dr. Fell said that you were a bit on the occult side so what very, _very_ breakable thing did you use to trap me here?”

“Breakable?” Belloq said with a laugh, “Oh no, my friend, quite the opposite.” He passed the lid to the man with the eyepatch, who took out a piece of charcoal and started drawing on the inside of it. Belloq held up his fist, where he had a signet ring with a six-point star. Crowley recognized it immediately. 

“The Seal of Solomon, where the Heaven did you get that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, _demon_.”

The man with the eyepatch brought the lid back over, now emblazoned with a charcoal devil’s trap.

“Very nice, my friend,” Belloq said to him, making a downward motion with his hand, forcing Crowley to kneel back down in the basket, “A real live demon. They’ll have to take me seriously now. Once we get you back to Europe, we’ll dissect you and see what makes you tick.”

Belloq replaced the lid and called over two of the thugs. The next thing Crowley knew he was being carried through the marketplace. With no other way out, he screamed for Aziraphale.

-

Aziraphale ran after them immediately, fighting through the thick midday crowds around him. He didn’t know how Crowley had gotten himself trapped, but he had to help him.

He almost lost them in a maze of alleyways before coming back out onto another square, full of people carrying large blasted rattan baskets. He started to panic, blood rushing in his ears, muffling everything around him. 

Aziraphale started yanking the baskets off people’s shoulders indiscriminately, shouting Crowley’s name the whole time. He finally heard him as the men carrying him rounded another corner.

Aziraphle ran after as fast as he could, jumping around the corner and coming face to face with gunfire coming from a large cargo truck. Must be in there, he thought. The men in the truck stopped shooting and slammed the gas, careening past him. Not pausing to think things through, Aziraphale snapped and popped the front right tire, causing the truck to ramp off an embankment and crash onto its side.

The world moved in slow motion for the angel as he watched the crash, and he became acutely aware of three things:

  1. There was indeed a rattan basket in the back of the truck.
  2. It was also filled to the brim with explosives.
  3. Crowley was about to be very thoroughly and violently discorporated.

Before he could do anything about this, the truck exploded furiously from the impact, and all Aziraphale could do is watch as his friend’s body burned inside.

\---

6 – Crowley was usually in pretty good control of his snakelike nature, the notable exception being his slit yellow eyes. Every once in a while, in moments like this, his scales would try to manifest.

7 \- The shady man cut across a second alley and into a seedy bar, meeting up with some Germans in smart suits. Those men in smart suits in turn met up with some locals who brought along their swords and their guns. And thus, the chain was set into motion, and the shadowy figure returned to the market to continue watching.

8 – “Let me tempt you…wait, no, that’s your job isn’t it?” A few oysters in Rome and Crowley’s life would never be the same.

9 – One didn’t become a guardian of a gate of Eden without being able to fight should the need arise. Aziraphale was quite proud of his right hook, it had been his second best bet after his flaming sword, which could not be used now for obvious reasons.

10 – The assassin found himself quite oddly on a little beach in the Bahamas. He had a splendid time there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Chapter 2! This is a bit shorter than I intended but the original cutoff wasn't as impactful as this one, so I'm moving that stuff to Chapter 3.
> 
> I have one link for you today and that's the [Seal of Solomon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seal_of_Solomon), which I'll be delving into in a bit more detail in Chapter 3 as well (or you can read about it now, I'm not your mother I don't make the rules.)
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading this for going on this little journey with me, as always a million thanks to Yamisnuffles for making the amazing art that inspired this (and I will keep saying that on every chapter).
> 
> As always, find me on Tumblr under my url [MovesLikeBucky](http://moveslikebucky.tumblr.com).


	3. Quick Note! <3

Hello there to all my lovelies who have subscribed to this fic and been so very very patient with me in terms of updating!

Those of you who have been with me for a while know that my writing has evolved since I first posted this, and truth be told, though the idea is near and dear to my heart, I was no longer happy with the first two chapters.

So I took both chapters, did a full overhaul on them, and made them into something I am much more proud of.I’m posting them new.Chapter 1 is live today and Chapter 2 will go up on Thursday.

After that, I will be posting the last three chapters on Thursdays, with a 2 week gap in between.So Chapter 3 will go up next Thursday, but Chapter 4 will be 2 weeks out from there.

Thank you all for reading this little thing, and I hope y’all will stick with me through to the conclusion <3

The new upload can be found here:

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/24274681/chapters/58506472>

I love you all!Thank you for reading this kinda silly author’s note ^_^

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Another New World](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503840) by [D20Owlbear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/pseuds/D20Owlbear)


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